BOOK OF DWAYANU
CHAPTER XVII: ORDEAL BY
KHALK'RU
Twice the green
night had filled the bowl of the land beneath the mirage while I feasted and
drank with Lur and her women. Sword-play there had been, and the hammer-play
and wrestling. They were warriors - these women! Tempered steel under silken
skins, they pressed me hard now and again - strong as I was, quick as I might
be. If Sirk were soldiered by such as these, it would be no easy conquest.
By the looks they
gave me and by soft whispered words I knew I need not be lonely if Lur rode off
to Karak. But she did not; she was ever at my side, and no more messengers came
from Tibur; or if they did I did not know it. She had sent secret word to the
High-priest that he had been
right - I had no power to summon the Greater-than-Gods - that I was
either imposter or mad. Or so she told me. Whether she had lied to him or, lied
now to me I did not know and did not greatly care. I was too busy - living.
Yet no more did
she call me Yellow-hair. Always it was Dwayanu. And every art of love of hers -
and she was no novice, the Witch-woman – she used to bind me tighter to her.
It was early dawn
of the third day; I was leaning from the casement, watching the misty
jewel-fires of the luminous lilies fade, the mist wraiths that were the slaves
of the waterfall rise slowly and more slowly. I thought Lur asleep. I heard her
stir, and turned. She was sitting up, peering at me through the red veils of
her hair. She looked all Witch-woman then...
"A messenger
came to me last night from Yodin. To-day you pray to Khalk'ru."
A thrill went
through me; the blood sang in my ears. Always had I felt so when I must evoke
the Dissolver - a feeling of power that surpassed even that of victory. Different
- a sense of inhuman power and pride. And with it a deep anger, revolt against
this Being which was Life's enemy. This demon that fed on Ayjirland's flesh and
blood - and soul. She was watching me. "Are you afraid, Dwayanu?" I
sat beside her, parted the veils of her hair. "Was that why your kisses
were doubled last night, Lur? Why they were so - tender? Tenderness,
Witch-woman, becomes you – but it sits strangely on you. Were you afraid? For
me? You soften me, Lur!" Her eyes flashed, her face flushed at my
laughter.
"You do not
believe I love you, Dwayanu?"
"Not so much as you love power.
Witch-woman."
"You love
me?"
"Not so much
as I love power. Witch-woman," I answered, and laughed again.
She studied me
with narrowed eyes. She said:
"There is
much talk in Karak of you. It grows menacing. Yodin regrets that he did not
kill you when he could have - but knows full well the case might be worse if he
had. Tibur regrets he did not kill you when you came up from the river - urges
that no more time be lost in doing so. Yodin has declared you a false prophet
and has promised that the Greater-than-Gods will prove you so. He believes what
I have told you - or perhaps he has a hidden sword. You" - faint mockery
crept into her voice -”you, who can read me so easily, surely can read him and
guard against it! The people murmur; there are nobles who demand you be brought
forth; and the soldiers would follow Dwayanu eagerly - if they believed you
truly he. They are restless. Tales spread. You have grown exceedingly -
inconvenient. So you face Khalk'ru to-day."
"If all that
be true," I said, "it occurs to me that I may not have to evoke the
Dissolver to gain rule."
She smiled.
"It was not
your old cunning which sent that thought. You will be closely guarded. You
would be slain before you could rally a dozen round you. Why not - since there
would then be nothing to lose by killing you? And perhaps something to be
gained. Besides - what of your promises to me?"
I thrust my arm
around her shoulders, lifted and kissed her.
"As for
being slain - well, I would have a thing to say to that. But I was jesting,
Lur. I keep my promises."
There was the
galloping of horses on the causeway, the jangle of accoutrement, the rattle of
kettle-drums. I went over to the window. Lur sprang from the bed and stood
beside me. Over the causeway was coming a troop of a hundred or more horsemen.
From their spears floated yellow pennons bearing the black symbol of Khalk'ru.
They paused at the open drawbridge. At their head I recognized Tibur, his great
shoulders covered by a yellow cloak, and on his breast the Kraken.
"They come
to take you to the temple. I must let them pass."
"Why
not?" I asked, indifferently. "But I'll go to no temple until I've broken
my fast."
I looked again
toward Tibur.
"And if I
ride beside the Smith, I would you had a coat of mail to fit me."
"You ride
beside me," she said. "And as for weapons, you shall have your pick.
Yet there is nothing to fear on the way to the temple - it is within it that
danger dwells."
"You speak
too much of fear, Witch-woman," I said, frowning. "Sound the horn.
Tibur may think I am loath to meet him. And that I would not have him
believe."
She sounded the
signal to the garrison at the bridge. I heard it creaking as I bathed. And soon
the horses were trampling before the door of the castle. Lur's tire-woman
entered, and with her she slipped away.
I dressed
leisurely. On my way to the great hall I stopped at the chamber of weapons.
There was a sword there I had seen and liked. It was of the weight to which I
was accustomed, and long and curved and of metal excellent as any I had ever
known in Ayjirland. I weighed it in my left hand and took a lighter one for my
right. I recalled that someone had told me to beware of Tibur's left hand...
ah, yes, the woman soldier. I laughed - well, let Tibur beware of mine. I took
a hammer, not so heavy as the Smith's... that was his vanity... there was more
control to the lighter sledges... I fastened to my forearm the strong strap
that held its thong. Then I went down to meet Tibur.
There were a
dozen of the Ayjir nobles in the hall, mostly men. Lur was with them. I noticed
she had posted her soldiers at various vantage points, and that they were fully
armed. I took that for evidence of her good faith, although it somewhat belied
her assurance to me that I need fear no danger until I had reached the temple.
I had no fault to find in Tibur's greeting. Nor with those of the others.
Except one. There was a man beside the Smith almost as tall as myself. He had
cold blue eyes and in them the singular expressionless stare that marks the
born killer of men. There was a scar running from left temple to chin, and his
nose had been broken. The kind of man, I reflected, whom in the olden days I
would have set over some peculiarly rebellious tribe. There was an arrogance
about him that irritated me, but I held it down. It was not in my thoughts to
provoke any conflict at this moment. I desired to raise no suspicions in the
mind of the Smith. My greetings to him and to the others might be said to have
had almost a touch of apprehension, of conciliation.
I maintained that
attitude while we broke fast and drank. Once it was difficult. Tibur leaned
toward the scar-face, laughing.
"I told you
he was taller than you, Rascha. The grey stallion is mine!"
The blue eyes ran
over me, and my gorge rose.
"The
stallion is yours."
Tibur leaned
toward me.
"Rascha the
Back-breaker, he is named. Next to me, the strongest in Karak. Too bad you must
meet the Greater-than-Gods so quickly. A match between you two would be worth
the seeing."
Now my rage
swelled up at this, and my hand dropped to my sword, but I managed to check it,
and answered with a touch of eagerness.
"True enough
- perhaps that meeting may be deferred...”
Lur frowned and stared at me, but Tibur snapped at
the bait, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"No - there
is one that may not be kept waiting. But after - perhaps...”
His laughter
shook the table. The others joined in it. The scar-face grinned. By Zarda, but
this is not to be borne! Careful, Dwayanu, thus you tricked them in the olden
days - and thus you shall trick them now. I drained my goblet, and another. I
joined them in their laughter – as though I wondered why they laughed. But I
sealed their faces in my memory. We rode over the causeway with Lur at my right
and a close half-circle of her picked women covering us.
Ahead of us went
Tibur and the Back-breaker with a dozen of Tibur's strongest. Behind us came
the troop with the yellow pennons, and behind them another troop of the
Witch-woman's guards.
I rode with just
the proper touch of dejection. Now and then the Smith and his familiars looked
back at me. And I would hear their laughter. The Witch-woman rode as silently
as I. She glanced at me askance, and when that happened I dropped my head a
little lower.
The black citadel
loomed ahead of us. We entered the city. By that time the puzzlement in Lur's
eyes had changed almost to contempt, the laughter of the Smith become derisive.
The streets were
crowded with the people of Karak. And now I sighed, and seemed to strive to
arouse myself from my dejection, but still rode listlessly. And Lur bit her
lip, and drew close to me, frowning.
"Have you
tricked me, Yellow-hair? You go like a dog already beaten!"
I turned my head
from her that she might not see my face. By Luka, but it was hard to stifle my
own laughter!
There were
whisperings, murmurings, among the crowd. There were no shouts, no greetings.
Everywhere were the soldiers, sworded and armed with the hammers, spears and
pikes ready. There were archers. The High-priest was taking no chances.
Nor was I.
It was no
intention of mine to precipitate a massacre. None to give Tibur slightest
excuse to do away with me, turn spears and arrow storm upon me. Lur had thought
my danger not on my way to the temple, but when within it. I knew the truth was
the exact opposite.
So it was no
conquering hero, no redeemer, no splendid warrior from the past who rode
through Karak that day. It was a man not sure of himself - or better, too sure
of what was in store for him. The people who had waited and watched for Dwayanu
felt that - and murmured, or were silent. That well pleased the Smith. And it
well pleased me, who by now was as eager to meet Khalk'ru as any bridegroom his
bride. And was taking no risks of being stopped by sword or hammer, spear or
arrow before I could.
And ever the
frown on the face of the Witch-woman grew darker, and stronger the contempt and
fury in her eyes.
We skirted the
citadel, and took a broad road leading back to the cliffs. We galloped along
this, pennons flying, drums rolling. We came to a gigantic doorway in the cliff
- many times had I gone through such a door as that! I dismounted,
hesitatingly. Half-reluctantly, I let myself be led through it by Tibur and Lur
and into a small rock-hewn chamber.
They left me,
without a word. I glanced about. Here were the chests that held the sacrificial
garments, the font of purification, the vessels for the anointing of the evoker
of Khalk'ru.
The door opened.
I looked into the face of Yodin.
There was
vindictive triumph in it, and I knew he had met the Smith and Witch-woman, and
that they had told him how I had ridden. As a victim to the Sacrifice! Well,
Lur could tell him honestly what he hoped was the truth. If she had the thought
to betray me - had betrayed me - she now believed me liar and braggart with
quite as good reason as Tibur and the others. If she had not betrayed me, I had
backed her lie to Yodin.
Twelve lesser
priests filed in behind him, dressed in the sacred robes. The High-priest wore
the yellow smock with the tentacles entwined round him. The ring of Khalk'ru
shone on his thumb.
"The
Greater-than-Gods awaits your prayer, Dwayanu," he said. "But first
you must undergo purification."
I nodded. They
busied themselves with the necessary rites. I submitted to them awkwardly, like
one not familiar with them, but as one who plainly wished to be thought so. The
malice in Yodin's eyes increased.
The rites were
finished. Yodin took a smock like his own from a chest and draped it on me. I
waited.
"Your
ring," he reminded me, sardonically. "Have you forgotten you must wear
the ring!"
I fumbled at the
chain around my neck, opened the locket and slipped the ring over my thumb. The
lesser priests passed from the chamber with their drums. I followed, the
High-priest beside me. I heard the clang of a hammer striking a great anvil.
And knew it for the voice of Tubalka, the oldest god, who had taught man to wed
fire and metal. Tubalka's recognition of, his salutation and his homage to -
Khalk'ru!
The olden
exaltation, the ecstasy of dark power, was pouring through me. Hard it was not
to betray it. We came out of the passage and into the temple.
Hai! But they had
done well by the Greater-than-Gods in this far shrine! Vaster temple I had
never beheld in Ayjirland. Cut from the mountain's heart, as all Khalk'ru's
abodes must be, the huge pillars which bordered the amphitheatre struck up to a
ceiling lost in darkness. There were cressets of twisted metal and out of them
sprang smooth spirals of wan yellow flame. They burned steadily and soundlessly;
by their wan light I could see the pillars marching, marching away as though
into the void itself.
Faces were
staring up at me from the amphitheatre - hundreds of them. Women's faces under
pennons and bannerets broidered with devices of clans whose men had fought
beside and behind me in many a bloody battle. Gods - how few the men were here!
They stared up at me, these
women faces... women-nobles, women-knights, women-soldiers... They
stared up at me by the hundreds... blue eyes ruthless... nor was there pity nor
any softness of woman in their faces... warriors they were... Good! Then not as
women but as warriors would I treat them.
And now I saw
that archers were posted on the borders of the amphitheatre, bows in readiness,
arrows at rest but poised, and the bow-strings lined toward me.
Tibur's doings?
Or the priest's - watchful lest I should attempt escape? I had no liking for
that, but there was no help for it. Luka, Lovely Goddess - turn your wheel so
no arrow flies before I begin the ritual!
I turned and
looked for the mystic screen which was Khalk'ru's doorway from the Void. It was
a full hundred paces away from me, so broad and deep was the platform of rock.
Here the cavern had been shaped into a funnel. The mystic screen was a gigantic
disk, a score of times the height of a tall man. Not the square of lucent
yellow through which, in the temples of the Mother-land, Khalk'ru had become
corporeal. For the first time I felt a doubt - was this Being the same? Was
there other reason for the High-priest's malignant confidence than his
disbelief in me?
But there in the
yellow field floated the symbol of the Greater-than-Gods; his vast black body
lay as though suspended in a bubble-ocean of yellow space; his tentacles spread
like monstrous rays of black stars and his dreadful eyes brooded on the temple
as though, as always, they saw all and saw nothing. The symbol was unchanged.
The tide of conscious, dark power in my mind, checked for that instant, resumed
its upward flow.
And now I saw
between me and the screen a semi-circle of women. Young they were, scarce
blossomed out of girlhood - but already in fruit. Twelve of them I counted,
each standing in the shallow hollowed cup of sacrifice, the golden girdles of
the sacrifice around their waists. Over white shoulders, over young breasts,
fell the veils of their ruddy hair, and through those veils they looked at me
with blue eyes in which horror lurked. Yet though they could not hide that
horror in their eyes
from me who was so close, they hid it from those who watched us from beyond.
They stood within the cups, erect, proudly, defiant. Ai! but they were brave -
those women of Karak! I felt the olden pity for them; stirring of the olden
revolt.
In the centre of
the semi-circle of women swung a thirteenth ring, held by strong golden chains
dropping from the temple's roof. It was empty, the clasps of the heavy girdle
open -
The thirteenth
ring! The ring of the Warrior's Sacrifice! Open for - me!
I looked at the
High-priest. He stood beside his priests squatting at their drums. His gaze was
upon me. Tibur stood at the edge of the platform beside the anvil of Tubalka,
in his hands the great sledge, on his face reflection of the gloating on that
of the High-priest. The Witch-woman I could not see.
The High-priest
stepped forward. He spoke into the dark vastness of the temple where was the
congregation of the nobles.
"Here stands
one who comes to us calling himself - Dwayanu. If he be Dwayanu, then will the
Greater-than-Gods, mighty Khalk'ru, hear his prayer and accept the Sacrifices.
But if Khalk'ru be deaf to him - he is proven cheat and liar. And Khalk'ru will
not be deaf to me who have served him faithfully. Then this cheat and liar
swings within the Warrior's Ring for Khalk'ru to punish as he wills. Hear me!
Is it just? Answer!"
From the depths
of the temple came the voices of the witnesses.
"We hear! It
is just!"
The High-priest
turned to me as if to speak. But if that had been his mind, he changed it.
Thrice he raised his staff of golden bells and shook them. Thrice Tibur raised
the hammer and smote the anvil of Tubalka.
Out of the depths
of the temple came the ancient chant, the ancient supplication which Khalk'ru
had taught our forefathers when he chose us from all the peoples of earth,
forgotten age upon forgotten age ago. I listened to it as to a nursery song.
And Tibur's eyes never left me, his hand on hammer in readiness to hurl and
cripple if I tried to flee; nor did Yodin's gaze leave me.
The chant ended.
Swiftly I raised
my hands in the ancient sign, and I did with the ring what the ancient ritual
ordered - and through the temple swept that first breath of cold that was
presage of the coming of Khalk'ru!
Hai! The faces of
Yodin and Tibur when they felt that breath! Would that I could look on them!
Laugh now, Tibur! Hai! but they could not stop me now! Not even the Smith would
dare hurl hammer nor raise hand to loose arrow storm upon me! Not even Yodin would
dare halt me - I forgot
all that. I forgot Yodin and Tibur. I forgot, as ever I forgot, the Sacrifices
in the dark exultation of the ritual.
The yellow stone
wavered, was shot through with tremblings. It became thin as air. It vanished.
Where it had been,
black tentacles quivering, black body hovering, vanishing into immeasurable
space, was Khalk'ru!
Faster, louder,
beat the drums.
The black
tentacles writhed forward. The women did not see them. Their eyes clung to
me... as though... as though I held for them some hope that flamed through
their despair! I... who had summoned their destroyer...
The tentacles
touched them. I saw the hope fade and die. The tentacles coiled round their
shoulders. They slid across their breasts. Embraced them. Slipped down their
thighs and touched their feet. The drums began their swift upward flight into
the crescendo of the Sacrifice's culmination.
The wailing of
the women was shrill above the drums. Their white bodies became grey mist. They
became shadows. They were gone - gone before the sound of their wailing had
died. The golden girdles fell clashing to the rock -
What was wrong?
The ritual was ended. The Sacrifice accepted. Yet Khalk'ru still hovered!
And the lifeless
cold was creeping round me, was rising round me...
A tentacle swayed
and writhed forward. Slowly, slowly, it passed the Warrior's Ring - came closer
- closer -
It was reaching
for me!
I heard a voice
intoning. Intoning words more ancient than I had ever known. Words? They were
not words! They were sounds whose roots struck back and back into a time before
ever man drew breath.
It was Yodin -
Yodin speaking in a tongue that might have been Khalk'ru's own before ever life
was!
Drawing Khalk'ru
upon me by it! Sending me along the road the Sacrifices had travelled!
I leaped upon
Yodin. I caught him in my arms and thrust him between me and the questing
tentacle. I raised Yodin in my arms as though he had been a doll and flung him
to Khalk'ru. He went through the tentacle as though it had been cloud. He
struck the chains that held the Warrior's Ring. He swung in them, entangled. He
slithered down upon the golden girdle.
Hands upraised, I
heard myself crying to Khalk'ru those same unhuman syllables. I did not know
their meaning then, and do not know them now - nor from whence knowledge of
them came to me...
I know they were
sounds the throats and lips of men were never meant to utter!
But Khalk'ru
heard - and heeded! He hesitated. His eyes stared at me, unfathomably - stared
at and through me.
And then the
tentacle curled back. It encircled Yodin. A thin screeching - and Yodin was
gone!
The living
Khalk'ru was gone. Lucent yellow, the bubble-ocean gleamed where he had been -
the black shape floated inert within it.
I heard a tinkle
upon the rock, the ring of Yodin rolling down the side of the cup. I leaped
forward and picked it up.
Tibur, hammer
half raised, stood glaring at me beside the anvil. I snatched the sledge from
his hand, gave him a blow that sent him reeling.
I raised the
hammer and crushed the ring of Yodin on the anvil!
From the temple
came a thunderous shout -
"Dwayanu!"
CHAPTER XVIII - WOLVES OF LUR
I rode through
the forest with the Witch-woman. The white falcon perched on her gauntleted
wrist and cursed me with unwinking golden eyes. It did not like me - Lur's
falcon. A score of her women rode behind us. A picked dozen of my own were
shield for my back. They rode close. So
it was of old. I liked my back covered. It was my sensitive part, whether with
friends or foes.
The armourers had
fashioned me a jacket of the light chain-mail. I wore it; Lur and our little
troop wore them; and each was as fully armed as I with the two swords, the long
dagger and the thonged hammer. We were on our way to reconnoitre Sirk.
For five days I
had sat on the throne of the High-priest, ruling Karak with the Witch-woman and
Tibur. Lur had come to me - penitent in her own fierce fashion. Tibur, all
arrogance and insolence evaporated, had bent the knee, proffering me
allegiance, protesting, reasonably enough, that his doubts had been but
natural. I accepted his allegiance, with reservations. Sooner or later I would
have to kill Tibur - even if I had not promised Lur his death. But why kill him
before he ceased to be useful? He was a sharp-edged tool? Well, if he cut me in
my handling of him, it would be only my fault. Better a crooked sharp knife
than a straight dull one.
As for Lur - she
was sweet woman flesh, and subtle. But did she greatly matter? Not greatly -
just then. There was a lethargy upon me, a lassitude, as I rode beside her
through the fragrant forest.
Yet I had
received from Karak homage and acclaim more than enough to soothe any wounded
pride. I was the idol of the soldiers. I rode through the streets to the shouts
of the people, and mothers held their babes up to look on me. But there were
many who were silent when I passed, averting their heads, or glancing at me
askance with eyes shadowed by furtive hatred and fear.
Dara, the
bold-eyed captain who had warned me of Tibur, and Naral, the swaggering girl
who had given me her locket, I had taken for my own and had made them officers
of my personal guard. They were devoted and amusing. I had spoken to Dara only
that morning of those who looked askance at me, asking why.
"You want
straight answer, Lord?"
"Always
that, Dara."
She said bluntly:
"They are
the ones who looked for a Deliverer. One who would break chains. Open doors.
Bring freedom. They say Dwayanu is only another feeder of Khalk'ru. His
butcher. Like Yodin. No worse, maybe. No better certainly."
I thought of that
strange hope I had seen strangled in the eyes of the sacrifices. They too had
hoped me Deliverer, instead of...
"What do you
think, Dara?"
"I think as
you think, Lord," she answered. "Only - it would not break my heart
to see the golden girdles broken."
And I was
thinking of that as I rode along with Lur, her falcon hating me with its
unwinking glare. What was - Khalk'ru? Often and often, long and long and long
ago, I had wondered that. Could the illimitable cast itself into such a shape
as that which came to the call of the wearer of the ring? Or rather - would it?
My empire had been widespread – under sun and moon and stars. Yet it was a mote
in the sun-ray compared to the empire of the Spirit of the Void. Would one so
great be content to shrink himself within the mote?
Ai! but there was
no doubt that the Enemy of Life was! But was that which came to the summons of
the ring - the Enemy of Life? And if not - then was this dark worship worth its
cost?
A wolf howled.
The Witch-woman threw back her head and answered it. The falcon stretched its
wings, screaming. We rode from the forest into an open glade, moss-carpeted.
She halted, sent again from her throat the wolf cry.
Suddenly around
us was a ring of wolves. White wolves whose glowing green eyes were fixed on
Lur. They ringed us, red tongues lolling, fangs glistening. A patter of pads,
and as suddenly the circle of wolves was doubled. And others slipped through
the trees until the circle was three-fold, four-fold... until it was a wide
belt of living white flecked by scarlet flames of wolf-tongues, studded with glinting
emeralds of wolf-eyes...
My horse
trembled; I smelled its sweat.
Lur drove her
knees into the sides of her mount and rode forward. Slowly she paced it round
the inner circle of the white wolves. She raised her hand; something she said.
A great dog-wolf arose from its haunches and came toward her. Like a dog, it
put its paws upon her saddle. She reached down, caught its jowls in her hands.
She whispered to it. The wolf seemed to listen. It slipped back to the circle
and squatted, watching her. I laughed.
"Are you
woman - or wolf, Lur?"
She said:
"I, too,
have my followers, Dwayanu. You could not easily win these from me."
Something in her
tone made me look at her sharply. It was the first time that she had shown
resentment, or at least chagrin, at my popularity. She did not meet my gaze.
The big dog-wolf
lifted its throat and howled. The circles broke. They spread out, padding
swiftly ahead of us like scouts. They melted into the green shadows.
The forest
thinned. Giant ferns took the place of the trees. I began to hear a curious
hissing. Also it grew steadily warmer, and the air filled with moisture, and
mist wreaths floated over the ferns. I could see no tracks, yet Lur rode
steadily as though upon a well-marked road.
We came to a huge
clump of ferns. Lur dropped from her horse.
"We go on
foot here, Dwayanu. It is but a little way."
I joined her. The
troop drew up but did not alight. The Witch-woman and I slipped through the
ferns for a score of paces. The dog-wolf stalked just ahead of her. She parted
the fronds. Sirk lay before me.
At right arose a
bastion of perpendicular cliff, dripping with moisture, little of green upon it
except small ferns clinging to precarious root-holds. At left, perhaps four
arrow flights away, was a similar bastion, soaring into the haze. Between these
bastions was a level platform of black rock. Its smooth and glistening
foundations dropped into a moat as wide as two strong throws of a javelin. The platform
curved outward, and from cliff to cliff it was lipped with one unbroken line of
fortress.
Hai! But that was
a moat! Out from under the right-hand cliff gushed a torrent. It hissed and
bubbled as it shot forth, and the steam from it wavered over the cliff face
like a great veil and fell upon us in a fine warm spray. It raced boiling along
the rock base of the fortress, and jets of steam broke through it and immense
bubbles rose and burst, scattering showers of scalding spray.
The fortress itself was not high. It was squat and
solidly built, its front unbroken except for arrow slits close to the top.
There was a parapet across the top. Upon it I could see the glint of pears and
the heads of the guards. In only one part was there anything like towers. These
were close to the centre where the boiling moat narrowed. Opposite them, on the
farther bank, was a pier for a drawbridge. I could see the bridge, a narrow
one, raised and protruding from between the two towers like a tongue.
Behind the
fortress, the cliffs swept inward. They did not touch. Between them was a gap
about a third as wide as the platform of the fortress. In front of us, on our
side of the boiling stream, the sloping ground had been cleared both of trees
and ferns. It gave no cover.
They had picked
their spot well, these outlaws of Sirk. No besiegers could swim that moat with
its hissing jets of live steam and bursting bubbles rising continually from the
geysers at its bottom. No stones nor trees could dam it, making a causeway over
which to march to batter at the fortress's walls. There was no taking of Sirk
from this side. That was clear. Yet there must be more of Sirk than this.
Lur had been
following my eyes, reading my thoughts.
"Sirk itself
lies beyond those gates," she pointed to the gap between the cliffs.
"It is a valley wherein is the city, the fields, the herds. And there is
no way into it except through those gates."
I nodded,
absently. I was studying the cliffs behind the fortress. I saw that these,
unlike the bastions in whose embrace the platform lay, were not smooth. There
had been falls of rock, and these rocks had formed rough terraces. If one could
get to those terraces - unseen...
"Can we get
closer to the cliff from which the torrent comes, Lur?"
She caught my
wrist, her eyes bright.
"What do you
see, Dwayanu?"
"I do not
know as yet, Witch-woman. Perhaps nothing. Can we get closer to the
torrent?"
"Come."
We slipped out of
the ferns, skirted them, the dog-wolf walking stiff-legged in the lead, eyes
and ears alert. The air grew hotter, vapour-filled, hard to breathe. The
hissing became louder. We crept through the ferns, wet to the skins. Another
step and I looked straight down upon the boiling torrent. I saw now that it did
not come directly from the cliff. It shot up from beneath it, and its heat and
its exhalations made me giddy. I tore a strip from my tunic and wrapped it around
mouth and nose. I studied the cliff above it, foot by foot. Long I studied it
and long - and then I turned.
"We can go
back, Lur."
"What have
you seen, Dwayanu?"
What I had seen
might be the end of Sirk - but I did not tell her so. The thought was not yet
fully born. It had never been my way to admit others into half-formed plans. It
is too dangerous. The bud is more delicate than the flower and should be left
to develop free from prying hands or treacherous or even well-meant meddling.
Mature your plan and test it; then you can weigh with clear judgment any
changes. Nor was I ever strong for counsel; too many pebbles thrown into the
spring muddy it. That was one reason I was - Dwayanu. I said to Lur:
"I do not
know. I have a thought. But I must weigh it."
She said,
angrily:
"I am not
stupid. I know war - as I know love. I could help you." -
I said,
impatiently:
"Not yet.
When I have made my plan I will tell it to you."
She did not speak
again until we were within sight of the waiting women; then she turned to me.
Her voice was low, and very sweet:
"Will you
not tell me? Are we not equal, Dwayanu?"
"No," I
answered, and left her to decide whether that was answer to the first question
or both.
She mounted her horse, and we rode back through the
forest.
I was thinking,
thinking over what I had seen, and what it might mean, when I heard again the
howling of the wolves. It was a steady, insistent howling. Summoning. The
Witch-woman raised her head, listened, then spurred her horse forward. I shot
my own after her. The white falcon fluttered, and beat up into the air,
screeching.
We raced out of
the forest and upon a flower-covered meadow. In the meadow stood a little man.
The wolves surrounded him, weaving around and around one another in a
witch-ring. The instant they caught sight of Lur, they ceased their cry -
squatted on their haunches. Lur checked her horse and rode slowly toward them.
I caught a glimpse of her face, and it was hard and fierce.
I looked at the
little man. Little enough he was, hardly above one of my knees, yet perfectly
formed. A little golden man with hair streaming down almost to his feet. One of
the Rrrllya - I had studied the woven pictures of them on the tapestries, but
this was the first living one I had seen - or was it? I had a vague idea that
once I had been in closer contact with them than the tapestries.
The white falcon
was circling round his head, darting down upon him, striking at him with claws
and beak. The little man held an arm before his eyes, while the other was
trying to beat the bird away. The Witch-woman sent a shrill call to the falcon.
It flew to her, and the little man dropped his arms. His eyes fell upon me.
He cried out to
me, held his arms out to me, like a child.
There was appeal
in cry and gesture. Hope, too, and confidence. It was like a frightened child
calling to one whom it knew and trusted. In his eyes I saw again the hope that
I had watched die in the eyes of the Sacrifices. Well, I would not watch it die
in the eyes of the little man!
I thrust my horse
past Lur's, and lifted it over the barrier of the wolves. Leaning from the saddle,
I caught the little man up in my arms. He clung to me, whispering in strange
trilling sounds.
I looked back at
Lur. She had halted her horse beyond the wolves.
She cried:
"Bring him
to me!"
The little man
clutched me tight, and broke into a rapid babble of the strange sounds. Quite
evidently he had understood, and quite as evidently he was imploring me to do
anything other than turn him over to the Witch-woman.
I laughed, and
shook my head at her. I saw her eyes blaze with quick, uncontrollable fury. Let
her rage! The little man should go safe! I put my heels to the horse and leaped
the far ring of wolves. I saw not far away the gleam of the river, and turned
my horse toward it.
The Witch-woman
gave one wild, fierce cry. And then there was the whirr of wings around my
head, and the buffeting of wings about my ears. I threw up a hand. I felt it
strike the falcon, and I heard it shriek with rage and pain. The little man
shrank closer to me.
A white body shot
up and clung for a moment to the pommel of my saddle, green eyes glaring into
mine, red mouth slavering. I took a quick glance back. The wolf pack was
rushing down upon me, Lur at their heels. Again the wolf leaped. But by this
time I had drawn my sword. I thrust it through the white wolf's throat. Another
leaped, tearing a strip from my tunic. I held the little man high up in one arm
and thrust again.
Now the river was
close. And now I was on its bank. I lifted the little man in both hands and
hurled him far out into the water.
I turned, both swords
in hand, to meet the charge of the wolves.
I heard another
cry from Lur. The wolves stopped in their rush, so suddenly that the foremost
of them slid and rolled. I looked over the river. Far out on it was the head of
the little man, long hair floating behind him, streaking for the opposite
shore.
Lur rode up to
me. Her face was white, and her eyes were hard as blue jewels. She said in a
strangled voice:
"Why did you
save him?"
I considered
that, gravely. I said:
"Because not
twice would I see hope die in the eyes of one who trusts me."
She watched me,
steadily; and the white-hot anger did not abate.
"You have
broken the wings of my falcon, Dwayanu."
"Which do
you love best. Witch-woman - its wing or my eyes?"
"You have
killed two of my wolves."
"Two wolves
- or my throat, Lur?"
She did not
answer. She rode slowly back to her women. But I had seen tears in her eyes
before she turned. They might have been of rage – or they might not. But it was
the first time I had ever seen Lur weep.
With never a word
to each other we rode back to Karak - she nursing the wounded falcon, I
thinking over what I had seen on the cliffs of Sirk.
We did not stop at Karak. I had a longing for the
quiet and beauty of the Lake of the Ghosts. I told Lur that. She assented
indifferently, so we went straight on and came to it just as the twilight was
thickening. With the women, we dined together in the great hall. Lur had shaken
off her moodiness. If she still felt wrath toward me, she hid it well. We were merry
and I drank much wine. The more I drank the clearer became my plan for the
taking of Sirk. It was a good plan. After awhile, I went up with Lur to her
tower and watched the waterfall and the beckoning mist wraiths, and the plan
became clearer still.
Then my mind turned
back to that matter of Khalk'ru. And I thought over that a long while. I looked
up and found Lur's gaze intent upon me.
"What are
you thinking, Dwayanu?"
"I am
thinking that never again will I summon Khalk'ru."
She said, slowly,
incredulously:
"You cannot
mean that, Dwayanu!"
"I do mean
it."
Her face
whitened. She said:
"If Khalk'ru
is not offered his Sacrifice, he will withdraw life from this land. It will
become desert, as did the Mother-land when the Sacrifices were ended."
I said:
"Will it?
That is what I have ceased to believe. Nor do I think you believe it, Lur. In
the olden days there was land upon land which did not acknowledge Khalk'ru,
whose people did not sacrifice to Khalk'ru - yet they were not desert. And I
know, even though I do not know how I know, that there is land upon land to-day
where Khalk'ru is not worshipped - yet life teems in them. Even here - the
Rrrllya, the Little People, do not worship him. They hate him - or so you have
told me - yet the land over Nanbu is no less fertile than here."
She said:
"That was
the whisper that went through the Mother-land, long and long and long ago. It
became louder - and the Mother-land became desert."
"There might
have been other reasons than Khalk'ru's wrath for that, Lur."
"What were
they?"
"I do not
know," I said. "But you have never seen the sun and moon and stars. I
have seen them. And a wise old man once told me that beyond sun and moon were
other suns with other earths circling them, and upon them - life. The Spirit of
the Void in which burn these suns should be too vast to shrink itself to such
littleness as that which, in a little temple in this little comer of all earth,
makes itself manifest to us."
She answered:
"Khalk'ru
is! Khalk'ru is everywhere. He is in the tree that withers, the spring that
dries. Every heart is open to him. He touches it – and there comes weariness of
life, hatred of life, desire for eternal death. He touches earth and there is
sterile sand where meadows grew; the flocks grow barren. Khalk'ru is."
I thought over
that, and I thought it was true enough. But there was a flaw in her argument.
"Nor do I
deny that, Lur," I answered. "The Enemy of Life is. But is what comes
to the ritual of the ring - Khalk'ru?"
"What else?
So it has been taught from ancient days."
"I do not
know what else. And many things have been taught from ancient days which would
not stand the test. But I do not believe that which comes is Khalk'ru, Soul of
the Void, He-to-Whom-All-Life-Must-Return and all the rest of his titles. Nor
do I believe that if we end the Sacrifices life will end here with them."
She said, very
quietly:
"Hear me,
Dwayanu. Whether that which comes to the Sacrifices be Khalk'ru or another
matters not at all to me. All that matters is this: I do not want to leave this
land, and I would keep it unchanged. I have been happy here. I have seen the
sun and moon and stars. I have seen the outer earth in my waterfall yonder. I
would not go into it. Where would I find a place so lovely as this my Lake of
the Ghosts? If the Sacrifices end, they whom only fear keeps here will go. They
will be followed by more and more. The old life I love ends with the Sacrifices
- surely. For if desolation comes, we shall be forced to go. And if it does not
come, the people will know that they have been taught lies, and will go to see whether
what is beyond be not fairer, happier, than here. So it has always been. I say
to you, Dwayanu - it shall not be here!"
She waited for me
to answer. I did not answer.
"If you do
not wish to summon Khalk'ru, then why not choose another in your place?"
I looked at her
sharply. I was not ready to go quite that far as yet. Give up the ring, with
all its power!
"There is
another reason, Dwayanu, than those you have given me. What is it?"
I said, bluntly:
"There are
many who call me feeder of Khalk'ru. Butcher for him. I do not like that. Nor
do I like to see - what I see - in the eyes of the women I feed him."
"So that is
it," she said, contemptuously. "Sleep has made you soft, Dwayanu!
Better tell me your plan to take Sirk and let me carry it out! You have grown
too tender-hearted for war, I think!"
That stung me,
swept all my compunctions away. I jumped up, knocking away the chair,
half-raised my hand to strike her. She faced me, boldly, no trace of fear in
her eyes. I dropped my hand.
"But not so
soft that you can mould me to your will, Witch," I said. "Nor do I go
back on my bargains. I have given you Yodin. I shall give you Sirk, and all
else I have promised. Till then - let this matter of the Sacrifices rest. When
shall I give you Tibur?"
She put her hands
on my shoulders and smiled into my angry eyes. She clasped her hands around my
neck and brought my lips down to her warm red ones.
"Now,"
she whispered, "you are Dwayanu! Now the one I love - ah, Dwayanu, if you
but loved me as I love you!"
Well, as for
that, I loved her as much as I could any woman... After all, there was none
like her. I swung her up and held her tight, and the old recklessness, the old
love of life poured through me.
"You shall
have Sirk! And Tibur when you will."
She seemed to
consider.
"Not
yet," she said. "He is strong, and he has his followers. He will be
useful at Sirk, Dwayanu. Not before then - surely."
"It was
precisely what I was thinking," I said. "On one thing at least we
agree."
"Let us have
wine upon our peace," she said, and called to her serving-women.
"But there
is another thing also upon which we agree." She looked at me strangely.
"What is
it?" I asked.
"You
yourself have said it," she answered - and more than that I could not get
her to say. It was long before I knew what she had meant, and then it was too
late...
It was good wine.
I drank more than I should have. But clearer and clearer grew my plan for the
taking of Sirk.
It was late next
morning when I awoke. Lur was gone. I had slept as though drugged. I had the
vaguest memory of what had occurred the night before, except that Lur and I had
violently disagreed about something. I thought of Khalk'ru not at all. I asked
Ouarda where Lur had gone. She said that word had been brought early that two
women set apart for the next Sacrifice had managed to escape. Lur thought they
were making their way to Sirk. She was hunting them with the wolves. I felt
irritated that she had not roused me and taken me with her. I thought that I
would like to see those white brutes of hers in action. They were like the
great dogs we had used in Ayjirland to track similar fugitives.
I did not go into
Karak. I spent the day at sword-play and wrestling, and swimming in the Lake of
the Ghosts - after my headache had worn off.
Close toward
nightfall Lur returned.
"Did you
catch them?" I asked.
"No,"
she said. "They got to Sirk safely. We were just in time to see them
half-across the drawbridge."
I thought she was
rather indifferent about it, but gave the matter no further thought. And that
night she was gay - and most tender toward me. Sometimes so tender that I
seemed to detect another emotion in her kisses. It seemed to me that they were
- regretful. And I gave that no thought then either.
